


Shadow of Success

by JackieSBlake7



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSBlake7/pseuds/JackieSBlake7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vila and Orac leave Gauda Prime</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow of Success

Shadow of Success

Jackie

'They're dead, Orac. All of them.' Vila did not know how he had got from being in Blake's base to here where Orac had been hidden. Temporarily stunned by the shot that had hit him he had, on recovery, shammed being dead in the tracking gallery until the Federation troopers had left. Then blind fear and instinct had taken over, getting him here, to the one companion who #had# survived.  
'I… regret that,' Orac replied.  
Somehow that helped. Even though it was just a machine, as Avon… had always said. What more could Vila expect of it? Sometimes, though, they had all treated Orac as a person. Zen and Slave had been persons in their own way as well – and would probably understand the concept.  
'Find me somewhere safe.' If Vila could work out what "safe" was any more. 'And off this planet.' Which was more likely to be where "safe" was.  
'As the Federation would make even more inappropriate use of my functions…'  
'If you want to stay functional at all…' Vila replied, anger momentarily overtaking grief. He felt that Orac should have done #something# to make things work out differently – but it was too late to indulge such speculation.  
'I was going to suggest you destroy the base and its contents.'  
Vila could agree with that – anything to prevent the Federation from having a propaganda victory and the benefits of stating Blake was dead – and by another rebel's hand. Though how many would take #that# story as merely "official" propaganda and thus to be disbelieved, rather than the truth, he could not tell.  
'How? I don’t have access to explosives.'  
'Those who used the base saw the possible need for destroying it should it be overrun.'  
Vila wondered briefly what Blake's intentions… had been.  
'Tell me what to do.' For now he would accept what was suggested.

****

The ship Orac had found worked – though it made the Scorpio seem spacious. Vila would not give it a name yet – possibly not ever.  
Several days into their journey away from Gauda Prime, they were avoiding any contact with anyone, friend, neutral or foe. It was only now that Vila felt ready to decide what to do next.  
Blake's base was in ruins, and whatever remained of those who had been there – some of the Federation's most wanted rebels, and several of Vila's friends – was now unidentifiable.  
Vila was glad he had known the people on the Liberator and the Scorpio, and, he admitted, quite a few of those they had met on their journeys. He had had his few moments of fame, done things he had found interesting, had helped more people than he would have expected, and even saved the galaxy from the alien invasion.  
He would be within his rights to retire from engaging in heroics and spend the rest of his life quietly, avoiding being sent to Cygnus Alpha and its equivalents, possibly on one of the planets where he would have safe haven for services rendered. With Orac's help he could disappear from contact with anyone who would want him harm. When those on the Liberator and the Scorpio had discussed their future, this had always been one option, for some reason never pursued. Vila had his skills and there would be many like Bayban, though safer, who would be prepared to buy his services, whatever name he used. Nobody could complain if he did follow this course – he had done enough for the rebellion, by any definition. Others could continue or build on what the group had been doing – Avon had not been the only one to organise some of the opponents of the Federation, and there had been occasional exchange of plans and possibilities with those they had encountered.  
But, Vila realised, he #wanted# more than to fade into the background. He was no more committed to the rebel cause than Avon had been – the past tense was becoming easier – but it had provided a focus, a reason for activity, and they #knew# that they were making a difference, however slight. An increasing number of planets were enjoying local concessions – one of the side effects of rapid expansionism, the destruction of Star One and the war, and patchy availability of suppressant drugs, the Federation no doubt hoping that it would be able to impose full control later. Or not - by the time they had the physical resources the actual cost of imposition could well be too high, and a transition to something different would happen. The rebels who survived might feel cheated thereby by the lack of heroics – but it would involve less damage to all concerned.

It would be possible, he decided, to link up with some other rebels or whatever, for a while – and this time on his own terms. It would not be the same as before but he could find the camaraderie that had kept him with the group again. It would be necessary, though, have to find an explanation, should it be needed, for being separated from the rest of the group, and why he was not looking for them. Other possibilities beckoned… there might be a future to look forward to that would accommodate all the possibilities he presently desired.

'Nobody knows we were on Gauda Prime,' Vila said suddenly, and realised he was not certain when he had last spoken – and that had been merely to give directions to the ship’s computer. One option he did #not# want, he suddenly knew – to continue like this, hiding in shadows, with only Orac for companionship, barely talking from one day or even week to the next, doing "just enough" work to pay for his immediate needs. Possibly that was how Dorian ended up the way he was: this was a path consciously rejected. He would #do something#. Gan – why had he been so forgotten by the group – had said, occasionally, that he needed companions: alone, here, Vila fully agreed – even if he had been occasionally annoyed by those he had been with.  
'Is that a statement or a question?' Orac asked. 'Both interpretations appear to be correct.'  
'As far as the Federation are concerned all of us, including Blake, are still roaming the galaxy.' There had been no official mention of Blake’s death, apart from Servalan's statement on Terminal. Which could mean anything – she was expert at playing events to her own advantage… most of the time. 'And nobody is aware that the Liberator was destroyed – apart from Servalan, and who would believe her in her present role – what reason does she have to know as Sleer?'  
'You are stating the obvious,' Orac protested.  
'I am thinking aloud. Just stick to pointing out flaws in my arguments.' One thing Orac was #very# good at – if it was asked to do so.  
'Sometimes they are only flaws once you have made a choice as to which plan you actually will carry through, or because you fail to do things which are necessary to achieve your goals.' Which made sense – sort of.  
'And sometimes we do the right things for flawed or wrong reasons. Anybody who pursued Blake's trail – which would take longer without you – would, at most, get to Gauda Prime and find no trace of him subsequently.' Given how long the Liberator – and others – had spent chasing echoes of echoes of Blake, it could well be assumed that he had moved again. Nobody – apart from Vila and Orac – need ever know the truth. When they had been searching for Blake after the Intergalactic War there had been many such confused rumours – sometimes relating not to Blake himself, but the goals those in the region wished the rebels to pursue or achieve, or to rebels who claimed to be "following Blake." Had the dream that had been Blake, came the treacherous thought, diverted them from other options that might have worked? Or had “he” allowed ideas to be defined and advanced, and diverted official attention away from others who could promote reform and consolidate their positions without the Federation paying attention to them? Blake – as Vila remembered him as having been, rather than the person briefly met in the tracking gallery – would have wanted a more active participation: Avon had been willing to act indirectly.  
'Correct. However, the number of stories about Blake’s activities do seem to have declined since the events on and near Star One, even during the presidency of Servalan, more so now. Other rebels are acquiring fame beyond their immediate localities – some making use of Blake’s ideas.'  
Vila realised that he had been half-aware of this process for some time. Probably others were aware of it as well, and it might have happened anyway, even if Blake had been more visible. The Federation was a big place, and people tended to be interested in local linkages over the bigger picture.  
'Between us, could we continue the roles of Avon, Blake and the others?' Vila was not quite certain where the discussion would lead him yet. 'Consider it as an idea to explore.' The base on Gauda Prime had been destroyed – but there was no reason for the people there to be forgotten. 'We help link up others who #are# prepared to do the hard work, play the neutral outsider who allows people to do things without losing face and #then goes away#. Del Grant sold his skills – so can we. Give the opposition an illusion that they can follow to victory.' What had Travis said that time about the great illusion? What had someone else once said about using an enemy’s strength against them? 'Victory is having a system where the authorities and the rest of us do not bother each other too much, except when something needs to be done, and we can get on with making use of our skills and enjoying ourselves – not grand reforms..' Vila was prepared to accept "anything that worked" from the many systems they had encountered.  
'That might be feasible. You would have to give up any hope of personal leadership in the rebellion, or, probably, returning to Earth. What if someone you were previously in contact with wishes to meet with you in one of your alternative guises?' The computer was clearly intrigued by the idea.  
'I never intended to be a leader, and I will have to live with not seeing Earth again, if that is what it takes.' Vila had long since ceased thinking of Earth as home. 'We can stick to areas where the Liberator and Scorpio never went, so reducing the risk of an encounter – and develop a cover story if it is ever needed.' He paused to consider what he was defining. Avon might have enjoyed the task – one reason for pursuing the idea.  
'With a sufficient degree of organisation that might be feasible.'  
'Organisation provided by you?'  
'Naturally.' Vila was willing to leave most of the probable tasks involved to Orac.  
'We’ll work something out. And if there is anyone wishing to use my own skills, for payment, I will consider the matter.' Money would have to come from #somewhere#.  
'That would be reasonable. It would be a challenge.' That was Orac's definition of praise.  
Vila relaxed: he had a plan, and he would give his friends the future they should have had. They would not be forgotten – for now at least.

****

At first Orac took the lead in planning, but Vila came to understand the concepts, even make suggestions. In some respects what was required was no different to the challenge provided by a lock, or some of the scams he had done. In the fields where he had developed his lock picking and other skills praise of "workmanship" had been one of the highest compliments – what he was aiming for in this context and to a different end.  
There were occasional companions at time – but nobody seemed to connect him with the Liberator Vila.  
Eventually he began to see minor successes and then developments of the ideas he put forward. Somehow it was satisfying to have a proposal he had suggested in one place being repeated back to him in another, often a more complex or complete, form. He was accepted as someone passing through with all the benefits provided thereby – from being the "neutral outsider" to the provider of information on how things were done elsewhere. A semi-jocular reference to the Teal-Vandor system of conflict resolution as a means of resolving some of the problems with the Federation administration was taken up as a serious proposal, slightly to Vila's surprise – debates and other interactions might be a way forward. Blake, Vila thought, particularly in the early days, before the quest for Star One took over, might have accepted the concept.  
When Orac asked him on one occasion, Vila agreed that he had achieved the role he had wanted on leaving Gauda Prime, or even had he left the group prior to the last encounter.

'What you will need to maintain your present pursuit of masquerading as various of the Liberator group,' Orac said one day, 'is a female companion.'  
'I am not averse to establishing another group as such.' Vila had occasionally considered the option recently. 'It'll be Servalan won't it?' He suddenly missed her ... she would be the only one who understood his feelings.  
'Yes. She … has not been prospering. Not wholly my doing.'  
‘Your doing?’ Not that Vila was surprised.  
'Partly - I had my instructions to thwart the Federation, and she was responsible for the deaths of the Ensors and thwarting my and the group's plans.'

****

It had taken some time to locate "Commissioner Sleer." Vila had enjoyed the challenge, while continuing the activities he had taken on. 

He recognised the woman who had greeted him as he walked in the park – not quite a holiday, but a time to relax, and meet some of his contacts as well as to carry through his "project."  
Vila had been enjoying a sunny day and a little time without any thoughts of his work. As far as Servalan was concerned it would be a chance meeting - and he would give her freedom to choose.  
She had changed since they had last met - as had he.  
'Servalan – how are you?' Here on an obscure planet some time after she had been President, the name would arouse no curiosity. He #was# pleased to see her. 'Or are you Sleer?'  
'Servalan has been long forgotten,' Servalan acknowledged with a sigh, and indicated they sit on a park bench. 'I am doing well enough – as you seem to be.'  
Vila bought them snacks from a passing vendor. Nobody would give them a second glance – two old acquaintances reminiscing together – though the memories they shared were stranger than most.  
They exchanged pleasantries. They had been opponents once – here, however, that would be forgotten for a while, or at least until they had reached an arrangement.  
'How is your career?' Vila asked.  
'Commissioner Sleer has advanced somewhat. Others have taken power – and lost it. I endure. As does the Federation, despite the changes.'  
'Compromise enough and the rebels and the authorities can both have what they want.' Vila’s main regret was that his friends could not see the changes they had wanted actually occurring. If there were some obscure afterlife where they could meet once again, however, they would be pleased with what he had done for them. He had no regrets.  
'I am glad to have met you,' Servalan admitted. 'Not friendship – but we knew each other, and remember the old days.'  
'I'm glad we met too,' Vila replied, truthfully. For a moment he wished to reveal his secret now.  
'Good. I can’t wish you further success, but…'  
'For us success can mean merely surviving,' Vila stated. 'And the Federation is becoming a less dangerous place.'  
'Allowing the people some of the things they want does appear to keep them quiet – and is cheaper than suppressant drugs,' Servalan acknowledged, and looked around. 'I can see someone is waiting to talk to you – I won't ask questions, and I will allow you to go freely, for old times' sake,' she said with a smile, and, snack finished, got up. 'Perhaps we can meet again by chance or design somehow.'  
'I would like that,' Vila said, and meant it - for now at least, and he would allow her to lead the discussion. He stood up.  
Servalan stroked his cheek in a friendly gesture. She was still an attractive woman. 'I do hope we meet again. No enmity – like this.' She looked at him thoughtfully. 'I would like to meet the others just once more,' Servalan said. 'I will not harm them. I need to be reminded of who I used to be.' Vila was surprised at the pleading tone in her voice.  
'I understand – but perhaps it is better you do not.' Vila was not quite certain what he actually wanted.  
'Please Vila. I have been Commissioner Sleer for so long, I am beginning to forget who I was, what things used to be like.'  
That Vila could understand too. He felt slightly guilty about what he was going to do, despite having planned it.  
He gave Servalan the location of his ship. 'We meet this evening.'  
She left, obviously happy. Vila doubted her mood would last when they met up again.  
His contact came forward, and they started walking in the opposite direction to the one Servalan had taken.  
'Who was that?'  
'Someone I used to know.' Vila wondered if the name Servalan would mean anything to this young rebel.  
'Talking about the good old days?'  
'Sort of.' It was the truth, as far as it went. They chatted for a little while, and then Vila came to a decision about what he would do. 'If I ever do retire,' he said to the other's puzzlement, 'it will be to a planet with a city and a park like this,' he said, half to himself, in the expectation that it would not be achieved in the near future – but it was a goal for a more distant time. Was he finally becoming old then, to consider his retirement?

****

Servalan appeared at the ship, curious and expectant.  
'Where are they?'  
Silent, Vila launched the ship. His guilt at what he was about to do returned. Had Dorian felt like this the first time he had lured someone to his base? But Vila was not going to turn Servalan into his alter ego.  
'Vila, where are they?' Servalan asked, when they were away from the planet, suddenly anxious.  
Vila glanced at Orac. 'You are looking at them.'  
'What?' Servalan could not hide her fear.  
'They're dead. For years now, I have been passing as them. Down there I was Blake – I was with him for almost three years, and have picked up enough rebel ideas here and there to pass for him.' Vila was not certain whether he was more effective than Blake had been #because# he had had to act like this, or because he got the rebels he worked with to do the planning and action, rather than rely on Blake or some other notional hero. It had worked, for the most part: the original plan, modified to suit circumstances, was reasonably successful. 'Orac here helps me do Avon. And everybody accepts the pilot is staying on the ship. It takes some planning,' Vila admitted, ‘to ensure that people don't realise what's happening, but I have managed it so far. And it is a big galaxy, so nobody is surprised if much is conveyed indirectly.' Those who were his occasional travelling companions never stayed long enough to deduce what he was doing: if they wondered they never asked. He felt a certain relief that he had finally admitted what he had been doing to someone, that he could drop the mask.  
Servalan’s expression turned hard. 'I should tell everybody.'  
'Do you think they will believe it any more than that you are Servalan, and have been Supreme Commander and President?' Vila saw her evident pain at this remark, felt sorry for her. Her time of greatest triumph was being forgotten, and as Sleer she would remain a footnote in history at most. 'Now we have to decide what to do with you.' He glanced at Orac.  
'Are you going to kill me?' Servalan asked, warily.  
'No – unless you force me.' Vila had had enough of killing long ago. 'I could let you go – and see what success you have in convincing people, or being believed in #anything# you say afterwards.'  
'I would rather be dead than that, or exiled somewhere.'   
Vila could understand that. 'Or you could join me now, keep the masquerade going. And,' he admitted, 'like you I am lonely. ' He would have to explain to the clone and Rashel, and to those on Kaarn – both places he occasionally visited, where he could be just be Vila Restal without complications. One of Avon’s stated intentions, should he have the chance, was to have created a research colony and explore the avenues products of his curiosity. Vila had contributed to the establishment of such bodies on the two planets, and elsewhere. Several were doing well, even creating specialist units of their own: a couple, partially with Vila's encouragement, pursued the lines of work Avon had been involved in. Another achievement Vila could be proud of – and nothing to do with the rebellion. He provided a link between researchers and those who wanted their services, and, with his other activities, made enough money to cover his requirements, and some to spare. He had given the others the legacy they would have wanted.  
'You want #me# to be a rebel?' She was, however, obviously intrigued.  
'You are not going to return to power as Servalan, or as Commissioner Sleer.' Vila smiled and continued. 'Consider though – how many of the rebels can organise a rebellion once it has got past the resistance movement stage and they take over the central administration?' Locally, some of them could – with a little difficulty at times. They might even succeed on the wider scale before the Zukans of the galaxy took over – or the possibility of the total collapse of the Federation that Orac sometimes mentioned.  
'Not many as yet – but there are those who would learn, and quickly,' Servalan replied. 'But you have a point.' She was interested. More – she #wished# to be convinced.  
'You know what the rebels want, have skills that they lack – combine them, be popular, and save the Federation as something that works. You might even rise to the top again.'  
'Yes…' She was, Vila saw, desperate to get #some# power by any means. He was guilty of manipulation like the rest of them – but this was a good cause, and Servalan #wanted# to do what he offered. 'I will still be dangerous, try to subvert things to my own ends,' she admitted. #This# challenge was what had attracted Avon to her, Vila knew. It attracted him too.  
'I know that – but others can manipulate as well as you. And you can ensure some continuity. Everybody gets what they want – you power, they reforms, the population peace and quiet. But – consider what they will do to you if they suspect you of double crossing them.' The Federation #or# the rebels.  
Vila knew what her response would be.  
'Tell me what to do.'


End file.
